What Drives You Mad
by dudeurfugly
Summary: Just when he thinks he has his daughter back, Jefferson loses her again.


**Disclaimer: I don't own anything! Unfortunately. But I adore Jefferson's relationship with his daughter, Grace. **

**A/N: And naturally when I love certain characters it's only natural that I should feel the need to overwhelm them with angst... Enjoy!**

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><p>"I'm glad you came back for our tea party, Papa," Grace smiled.<p>

Jefferson thought it was the most beautiful image in the entire world, like the pillars of sunshine that slipped through the branches of the trees around them. Her voice, so small, so innocent, fluttered in between the blades of emerald grass and ricocheted off the leaves. The forest enveloped them like a cocoon, keeping them both safe and together. He was delighted to see his little girl again; the flowers held more color, the earthy aromas of the forest seemed more calming—the agonizing torture of being imprisoned in Wonderland, a place he swore he'd never return to, felt only as if they had been a bad memory, a nightmare.

"I told you I would," he said, matching her grin.

He leaned across the huge tree stump they were using as their table and poured tea into Grace's ceramic cup, watching the amber liquid tumble into the pottery, the steam rising into the air. He poured some for Grace's stuffed white rabbit, who sat propped up between the two of them, and then emptied the last of the tea into his own cup. Grace reached for the bowl at the center of their table, nimble child fingers scooping up two sugar cubes. Jefferson watched, lifting his cup to his lips, while she contemplated whether or not to eat one or drop both into her tea.

It pained him to look at her sometimes, even now when they had finally been reunited. She reminded him of his lost love, his wife, the reason upon many other reasons why being stuck in Wonderland had brought him more misery than he could ever imagine. The cloak around her shoulders, bright scarlet fabric embroidered with curling, dazzling fall leaves in multicolor, had been his wife's last gift to their daughter—her very first gift, of course, being Grace's brilliant smile and waves of dark blonde hair. Jefferson was forever grateful for his wife's blessing of a child, something to hold onto after her passing to ease the loss.

They had each other now and nothing else mattered.

"What took you so long to return?" Grace wondered aloud. She settled on letting the two sugar cubes fall into her tea, using her spoon to help them dissolve.

"I got lost," Jefferson replied. "It took me awhile to find my way out."

"Were you scared?"

He placed his cup on the grainy surface of the tree. "Yes," he answered slowly, registering Grace's reaction. Her brow was knit together in thought. He saw a trace of concern in her blue eyes. _His eyes_, he mused. "I was…afraid I would be trapped. That I would never see you again, and that you would be on your own. I don't know what I'd do if…"

Jefferson trailed off, eyes wandering off anywhere but Grace. The corner of her mouth tilted into another smile, and she got up from her seat on the carpet of grass, instead sliding into her father's lap. She hooked her small arms around his neck and rested her head into the crook of his shoulder like she might never let go.

"It's all right, Papa," Grace assured him. "Grown-ups are allowed to get scared sometimes, too." She hugged him tighter. He returned the gesture, fingers smoothing out her hair. "I'm just happy you're home."

"I love you, Gracie," Jefferson whispered.

"I love you, too. Promise you'll never leave again?"

"You have my word," he grinned. "Always and forever."

"Forever is an awfully long time," Grace giggled.

_Not nearly long enough_, Jefferson thought, shutting away the memories of what felt like lifetimes stuck in that horrible place. Not enough time in the world could possibly make up what had been lost between him and his daughter. But they had to start somewhere. Jefferson was determined to move on, forbidding the dreadful memories to keep his mind in their hold.

"I don't want you to be sad anymore, Papa," his little girl said. "I know! Let's play a game." She moved her head from the crook of his shoulder and looked at him, waiting, with her arms still encircled around his neck.

Jefferson narrowed his eyes playfully at her. "What kind of game?"

She didn't say a word and leapt up from his lap at a jostling speed, dashing into the lush greenery with her cloak billowing behind her. For a moment, he was left with a hollow feeling, an emptiness, a coldness at the sudden vanishing act his daughter had pulled.

"Catch me, Papa!" He heard her melodic voice through the trees in harmony with the songs of the birds perched on the branches. "Come and find me!"

Grin tugging at his lips, Jefferson hauled himself to his feet and took off after her, following the last snatches of that scarlet cloak against the moss and the flowers and the shrubs gathered around the base of the forest floor. He listened to her laughter, and her quick but light footfalls over broken twigs.

"You're too fast for me," he called, out of breath. His voice echoed and sounded terribly lonely all of a sudden.

Grace's tinkling laughter and footsteps were quiet, barely discernible to his ears. Her cloak, shimmering with golden flecks sown into the fabric, no longer caught the sunlight. Jefferson had lost sight of her completely. He stopped for a moment, thinking she had hidden somewhere to throw him off.

"Grace?"

Jefferson was met with deafening silence.

It sent a shiver down his spine, even in the warmth of a spring afternoon. His feet propelled him forward again, his whole body weighed down with each step. His daughter was nowhere to be seen nor heard. The forest, which had before been such a peaceful place, seemed ice cold and devoid of all its saturated colors and comforting scents. He pressed himself to move faster, boots pounding against the soil, snapping stray twigs left and right.

His pulse pounded in his ears. Jefferson thought his heart would leap from his chest and kill him in the middle of this godforsaken forest. He was alone—so frighteningly alone—and his little girl was lost from him, yet again.

What a cruel world this was.

"Gracie?" he yelled. His voice was beginning to break. Jefferson felt a tightening in the back of his throat. "Where are you, sweetheart? Please tell me!"

The forest was spinning madly, or perhaps it was all in his head. He felt feverish and dizzy, legs numb from exertion. He could no longer drag his body forward. A cold sweat trickled down his temples and the base of his neck, making him shiver. Jefferson slumped against the bark of a tree, closing his eyes and pleading for the forest to stop its relentless motion.

"_Grace_!" he hollered. His voice broke at last.

Jefferson cursed the stillness that answered him.

"Papa!"

His eyes fluttered open. Something was wrong. Grace sounded different, sounded like she was hurt. Running on instinct, Jefferson heaved himself upright and took off again, every so often pressing his palms against the tree trunks to keep steady. He staggered, half blinded by dizziness, following her cries. Each one tore at his heart.

"I'm on my way, baby—"

"_Papa, please_!"

"Hold on, Grace, just hold on," Jefferson pleaded. "I'm—"

The first thing he saw was Grace's hand, outstretched on the forest floor. The color drained from his face, his stomach plummeted into the earth, and he didn't want to look any further. Jefferson inched his way toward her, face contorting in pain at the sight of his only child lying motionless. He leaned all his weight against a nearby tree and then slumped on his knees, limbs numb, head swimming. A ruby red apple with its polished exterior had rolled away from Grace's hand; her teeth marks, revealing the stark white fruit beneath, ripped at every fiber of Jefferson's being.

His eyes trailed from his dear Grace, his beautiful little girl, to the wicked, scornful smile of the Queen. She loomed above the small child, hands planted on her hips, gaze searing into his soul. She had destroyed him. Again. Jefferson let out a blood-curdling cry, one born out of absolute and total sorrow, an excruciating enough sound to make the Queen cringe.

"_No_," he sobbed. "What did you do to her?" Jefferson pushed himself forward on his hands and knees, nails clawing into the dirt. "Not my Gracie…"

He sat beside her still form, hand clasped over his mouth. Hot tears streaked down his face, and he didn't have the strength to wipe them away. Jefferson gathered his daughter into his lap, propping her head up into the crook of his elbow. There was no way she could be gone, not now—he refused to accept it. He refused to trust that her days of bright smiles and joyous laughter were gone. Jefferson traced his dirt-encrusted fingers across her ashen face and through her braided hair, matted with blades of grass and wilted leaves. Her eyes remained closed, her chest no longer rising and falling.

"Grace," he whispered softly. "Wake up. Please, don't go. _Please._ You can't be… Open your eyes for me, sweetheart, come on." Jefferson tapped at her cheek with care. He placed a kiss onto her forehead. Still, Grace didn't move.

Another heartbreaking sob escaped his lips, burning his throat. "_No_," he cursed, over and over again, eyes closing tightly. "Always and forever. Remember? …Grace?"

Above him, the Queen laughed. "Papa, please," she mocked. "Papa, help me, save me!"

Jefferson's voice shook. "The only happiness in my life," he said, eyes flashing with anger, "and you _stole_ it from me. Just when I had my daughter back, you…you _took her from me_."

"You're wrong, Jefferson," the Queen declared. "You never had her back in the first place, you mad, pathetic fool."

It was then that Jefferson awoke, drenched in a cold sweat, to find himself at the center of a cavernous room filled to the ceiling with hats of all shapes, sizes, and colors. Hundreds of thousands of hats, and not a single one could bring him back to Grace. His promise to her, so long ago it felt like a dream more than a hazy memory, had been broken.

Always and forever was now nothing more than a whisper of a breeze on a spring afternoon.

And it was enough to drive him mad.


End file.
